


Wakened Into Song

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: :'(, Ainur Music, Angst, Drunkenness, Fëa-Bonds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Tiny Bit of Daddy Issues, brother issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: A rocky outcropping in the foothills of the mountains formed the mouth of a cavern such that some she-wolf would shelter in to have her pups; that was the source Mairon sought through the toilsome, tangled woods.***Deaf to the music, Melkor hides in His grief.





	Wakened Into Song

A rocky outcropping in the foothills of the mountains formed the mouth of a cavern such that some she-wolf would shelter in to have her pups; that was the source Mairon sought through the toilsome, tangled woods.

Radiation fell from the ingress, poured from the nauseous earth as if it couldn’t stomach the emissions. It flared from the opening, an invisible force that discharged intermittently, lingering in a drawn-out note of queasy silence. The tumored flora near to the cave matted the ground and knotted about the walls of the abode, contorted from their intended form by the waves beyond violet. The flowers wilted in the sickly ebb, their pigments fading and fragrances fetid, and thorns grew from their thick vines.

Inward he crept like a physic, and his light did not wane even as the force grew with the depths, even as the air crackled, even as the stagnant pools of cave water became as a brewing mire, as the gloom multiplied and the air turned viscous. In this furthest corner could be found that _source,_ that spirit if irremediable misery, and even in such sorry state drew a sigh from his lips. There He lay, wretched and drunk, collapsed and stirring now with some muted anger which made His limbs awkward and His Fëa murky.

Mairon stood for some moments, looking on at the sight afore him, the state of the rocky hovel, the overpowering perfume of fermented fruits and the broken bottles which glinted off his light. The state of the Dark Vala, unaware of His visitor and slurring words that had no meaning save to their owner- His torn gown and tangled, matted hair alike the distorted plant-life outside and His head nodding from side to side, drooping in a slumber He resisted. But He could not hide from his radiance.

Two eyes, glossy with tears and clouded with inebriation shone bright in the flames of the Maia: He looked as a startled cat in the nighttime brush, and He turned quick to anger, His face contorting into wicked expression, an anger that hid His true mien. The radiation burst from Him in deepest of purples and He sat upright to recover some pride, only to wobble and fall back against His stone couch. Yet still He growled, and it rolled from His voice with the crackling sparks in the static air- **“Leave me be!”**

Simply and insouciant Mairon ignored His words, yet he was not without concern- rather, he was stricken so by that glimpse of His dolor and moved to such passion to alleviate it that nothing He could do in His stupor would prevent Mairon from helping Him sit upright and taking His face into his hands, at which both warmed His clammy skin and cooled His flushed cheeks.

“Lord, that thou might command of me to take leave I hath paid no heed, not of conceit but of consternation: for plentiful are those who would make use thy moment of debility against thee. But be that as it may, I shall be of one whom thou may’st safely confide. I prithee, know that I would not for any power- yea, even of the One!- know that I could not wield thy vulnerability against thee, and send me not away in your unneeded shame, for I see not any disgrace.”

Bleakly He resisted, pulling away from hands if only in physical habit, shy of touch. But His Fëa yearned for that gentle pressure, those soft guiding hands, and He perceived that the Maia’s words were spoken truth until at last Melkor’s head fell upon his shoulder, and He collapsed in heavy ruination upon his slim form. Slender but strong Mairon held close the slumped Vala, against the weakening force of His outbursts of radiation and the dying hiss of His anger. Resigned, Melkor buried His humiliation and hid His tear-dampened face against the Maia, inhaling the sweet scent that shone from Mairon like his Fëa-light in hazy gold.

A warmth in the coolness, a light in the darkness: He nearly fell into oblivion losing Himself to all of the points of their bodies in contact, but His isolation even while in such treasured embrace left Him aching, an emptiness in the pit of His despairing soul. He bit His lip to keep from sobbing, and instead of noise His anguish manifest in another fierce blast of energy and a shudder of His Fána. And He could contain Himself no longer.

“One by one they hath left me,” He began, “And forsooth I did not care so much- such callousness arose in me! If they did not wish for mine constant song, if they wished to sunder themselves from mine enlightenment then were not they the fools? Was I not doing what the heavenly Father ordained? Is this not what He hath made me for? So didst I take notice of them as they left? Nay! I cared not!”

Melkor turned to the side, and the Maia tightened his embrace. For long moments there was only His breath of many wines, heavy, and the ultraviolet which surged past now so slowly, so languorous and weak.

“But there wast always one Theme. Mayhaps I delighted to hear it atimes when in far forgotten lands, untended save by mine own hands. There was some joy in pulling on such a tie to feel some annoyance permeate the music, to have some whispers from long past. . . Yet now there are none, and I am deaf to all Themes but mine own. What fate is this that I am named the pitiless, the cruel! But I hath not shunned mine own brother, nor hath I banished Him from mine Fëa! I hath not prevented Him from His purpose- nay! I hath given Him one!”

Melkor shuddered, inhaling uneasily. He had clutched Himself to the modest clothes of the Maia. His fulmination had grown vehement and tears like volatile mercury slipped down His cheeks as at last He wept:

“No longer hath I those Fëa-ties, and I am expunged from their ranks- what am I now, and what else would they have me be but that that which I was made for, that who I am at heart? Is my supposed purpose only to be the Enemy, the Shunned, the _Other_?”

Overcome with His grief He shook, and what was the Maia to do, with the mightiest fallen, breaking apart in his arms? What was he to do but to caress His matted hair from His face and let his golden Fëa-light glitter upon those tears to dry them, to give a beacon of hope in darkness? What was he to do but pull Him up more to properly lay at His side so that He felt not so abandoned? And what was he to do, but to sing such music He longed for?

Those notes fell from Mairon’s lips and he understood the Dark Vala’s loathing of them, yet he understood also that kinship that one had whilst connected to all the Ainur in one tangled web of a symphony. How lonely it was to play a tune in secret unlike to the others, but how infinitely lonely it would be as a single instrument, all alone and unguarded by the myriad other sounds!

Mairon sang and yet knew it not until the Melkor’s sobs ceased and the radiation simmered and died. He sung of the Beginning which he barely recalled, sung of the creation propounded to them and the beauty of the earth. He sung of the depths of the seas near to Ulmo, and the forests of Oromë, the little flowers of Vána, the creations of Yavanna, songs of comfort that Estë and Irmo and Námo and Nienna could hum. And he sung of Aulë’s craft that was his own craft and of the skies of Manwë and of the lofty peaks of His brother’s halls which He so sorely missed.

And in the midst of this song which lit the chamber and warmed it, and dried it of its dampness, and which bloomed again the wilted flowers outside the cave, making them stronger than before and yet remaining still changed by Melkor's grief- in the midst of this song Melkor realized in looking up that Mairon was no longer singing with his voice, and that his lips were unmoving in a soft, sad smile.

Nothing could compare to the sound of that Theme coming from a small, but steadfast bond nurtured by a gentle golden light.

**Author's Note:**

> So I should really be studying for finals but my muse was in such a good mood I couldn't waste such an opportunity!  
> I've been mulling over this plot for the last two weeks or so, just because I was thinking a little bit about how Melkor was not counted among the Valar any longer and I wondered when that would have happened. After his discordant music? After he declared Arda his own?  
> Anyways, I headcanon that Melkor had no real connections to the Maiar (yet) and that each of the Valar slowly severed their connections to Him until only Manwë was left, and that He too broke off His Fëa connection to Melkor after renouncing Him from the rank of Valar/Aratar.  
> And that's when Mairon comes in and the beginning of their extremely strong Fëa bond :')  
> Melkor was so upset that he unintentionally releases a bunch of UV radiation, causing the plants around the cave to mutate. It's an idea that is totally inspired by Morgause1's "Tumblr Drabbles and Ficlets" in Chapter 3- check it out, their writing is excellent <3 <3 <3  
> ***


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